Finding the Poem Within

A young poet's search for spirituality and his desire to reach out to his dying mother lead him to places he could never have imagined.

Did you ever lose something that you really loved? You search aimlessly in the dark, running back and forth from one room to the other, hoping desperately to find it. Your mind is eaten up with thoughts about where it might be, who might have found it. You imagine it lying somewhere all alone, afraid. I spent years of my life searching for something that I had lost, trying to fill the lonely, homesick feeling I had inside. The only problem was that I had no idea what I was looking for.

I was anxiously waiting to graduate high school and get far away from New York City. The city was stifling for me; I couldn't breathe under the shadow of the great dark towers that blocked out the sun. My soul yearned to travel and be alive, free of the faceless metropolis. The first chance I got after graduation, I bought a standby ticket for any flight to Europe and ended up flying to Ireland with a childhood friend. That was my first taste of the world, and it tasted wonderful. It only succeeded in whetting my appetite for more.

I wanted to study the world's religions, and Judaism was the last on my list.

My next trip was much longer. Six months backpacking in Europe -- France, England, Spain, Italy, Hungary. Nothing could stop me. I had discovered spirituality and was searching for answers to quench the thirst inside my soul. Everywhere I went I met spiritual people who helped to guide me in my quest. I wanted to study the world's religions, and Judaism was the last on my list. I decided to stop telling people that I was Jewish.

After months of traveling, I started to feel that Europe didn't possess the answers I was looking for and decided to go to the Far East. There I could find the truth. The only thing that kept me from attempting to hitch to India (besides the numerous borders I would have to cross, many of them war torn) was my mother. She was sick and pleading with me to return home. When I told her that I might travel forever, the silence on the other side of the phone told me that she was crying. I couldn't break her heart. I had to return home. My spiritual quest would have to wait.

The Sufi Bookstore

It was autumn and I was 20 years old, trying to find a way to express my new-found soul amidst the rush hour subway traffic, the homeless people, and the incessant noise. I got a job in midtown entering data and delivering mail for a non-profit organization, and found my solace by going up to the rooftop of the tall office building and looking out at the massive city. Everything was still and silent. I could see the Hudson River, glittering in the distance, making its way out to the ocean, and at last I could see the sky.

A few days a week I drove my mother to the hospital downtown and waited with her while she received her treatments. I wish I had spent more time with her. It was so hard. I was at the peak of my life, beginning to explore the world and she was stuck and scared.

I discovered that even amidst the concrete jungle, there were many others out there who were searching for spirituality and meaning in life. I found a whole network of poetry readings, lectures, and classes on all sorts of topics. I tried meditating with the Buddhists, afternoon Yoga classes, and many other attempts to connect with the higher world. I read books from every religion I could get my hands on -- all except Judaism, that is. From my few visits in childhood to a temple, it was clear that it wasn't for me. There was no spiritual content there worth delving into. I longed to find a language in which I could pray in, and prayers and rituals that I could perform, so I continued to search.

My evenings were spent writing deep into the night, passionate poems about my travels and my spiritual journey, and about the sadness that I felt in my heart about my mother who was slowly departing from this world. At last I completed my masterpiece, a ten-page epic poem that encompassed everything that was happening in my life. It was full of depth and pain -- pain from the fact that I felt alive for the first time in my life but was unable to truly share it with anybody, and frustration that I was slowly losing my mother and was unable to help her. It was entitled, "Ode to Jack Kerouac, or Did You Ever Lose a Mother." I printed out one copy and ran to a poetry reading at a bookstore downtown.

There was no shortage of searching Jews at the Sufi bookstore.

It was called Sufi Books and hosted classes and lectures by speakers of every faith. Sufism is the mystical sect of Islam renowned for their tolerance towards all spiritual paths. Sufis are also known as Whirling Dervishes, because of their ecstatic dance circles. That night a British poet performed the translated poems of Rumi, a medieval Sufi poet from Persia. The poems were beautiful and ecstatic about his yearnings and love of God. One of the topics that he often spoke about was how a person has to see how everything in their life fits together like a perfect story.

After the reading I met a young man named Geoff, also an aspiring writer with an interest in religion. His father was Jewish and his mother was an interfaith minister. We struck up a conversation in the bookstore about our love of poetry and our search for spirituality. The young woman who worked behind the counter overheard our conversation and interjected, "You should join me and my friends tomorrow night at the Sufi Mosque for dancing and prayer. Then on Friday, don't miss attending Shabbos services at the Carlebach shul on the Upper West Side!" Although I rarely spoke about it, my Jewish heritage found me once again. It wasn't hard for her to guess. There was no shortage of searching Jews at the Sufi bookstore.

The next evening I met up with Geoff and we made our way towards the Sufi Mosque. It was my first time in a mosque, but the atmosphere was one of warmth and acceptance. Hardly anyone there was Moslem from birth, including the Sheikah, the female cleric. At least half of the young people there were Jews. The service consisted of dancing around the large carpeted room barefoot, chanting in easy Arabic phrases followed by a short prayer towards Mecca and then a festive meal. The woman from the bookstore reintroduced herself. "My Muslim name is Rabiya, but I usually go by Rebecca." Rebecca was Jewish, and her fiance, John, was the son of a Baptist Minister. Together they were some of the few Westerners to have visited Mecca.

Friday night, Geoff and I met again, this time to go to Carlebach Shul. It was my first time in my life inside an Orthodox synagogue. I was a little nervous. As we neared the shul we could already hear loud singing reaching out to the street. We pushed our way through the crowd blocking the narrow entry to find ourselves in a tiny room overflowing with people. Everyone was singing beautiful melodies with great joy. There were many familiar faces of people I had seen the night before at the mosque -- young Jews searching for something. Suddenly a large man wearing a very strange looking fur hat and sporting a long grey beard, came dancing down the narrow aisle. He danced straight up to me and then pulled me with him back down to the front of the shul. "It's so good to see you!" he said hugging me in a warm embrace. I didn't know how to react. Were Chassidim always so friendly? I had seen many of them in the diamond district in midtown, but none of them had ever hugged me before. I found out later that I had just met Rabbi Mordechai Twerski, the son of the late Hornsteiple Rebbe of Denver, Colorado, Rabbi Shlomo Twerski. It is no wonder that he is affectionately called the "Hug-achuver Rebbe" by his disciples. His warmth had a strong impression on me, although I wasn't quite sure what had just hit me.

Back at my place, I decided to lend Geoff my newly printed poem for his long subway ride home. "Let me know what you think." We kept up the friendship for the next few months and I continued to divide my time between the mosque and the shul.

My parent's apartment building got a new doorman from Pakistan and I talked to him about my newfound interest in Islam. He bought me a Koran and some other books as well. One day he greeted me, "Today is Ibrahim Day."
"What's that?" I asked.

"Ibrahim Day is the day that our forefather Ibrahim was to sacrifice Yishmael."

"You mean Isaac," I corrected him.

"No Yishmael," he snapped back looking annoyed.

"Listen," I said, "I don't know much about the Torah but I'm pretty sure that Abraham went to sacrificed Isaac, not Yishmael. I think I have a Bible at home, I'll go upstairs and check."

I had no idea that this was one of the main points of contention between the Moslems and the Jews. He didn't raise the point again, but I began to see that it was not possible to be a member of both religions at once while remaining intellectually honest.

Death and Life

Had I known that she only had a few more months left, I probably would have done everything different.

I was in denial of how badly my mother's condition had deteriorated. Had I known that she only had a few more months left, I probably would have done everything different. I would have spent more time at home. Instead I wanted to live on my own, so I could write and meditate. I was rambunctious and didn't understand much about the world. I completely ignored the fact that she might actually die; we all did. I was too young to process such a tragic loss and unprepared for the pain. I thought that everything would be fine. Not only would she survive, but if God forbid she didn't, it was all meant to be and I would accept it with happiness. Or so I thought.

Her death came suddenly and it was a shock for me. I stood there in the hospital room with my family unable to speak, unsure of what to do. I tried laughing, crying, it was such a strange mixture of emotions. On the one hand I was so happy that her pain was finally over; on the other, I felt like my whole world had been destroyed. I suddenly was overcome with a desire to speak to a rabbi, to find out what I should do, how to cope with the pain, how to help my mother's soul move on to wherever it had to go. I had heard of shiva, although I had no idea what it was, but I was certain that this was the right thing to do. This was what she would have wanted. I would speak to a rabbi the first chance I got.

As we left the hospital building, we felt a tremendous weight lifted from our shoulders. All those years of pain were finally over. We drove uptown in silence. Miraculously there wasn't any traffic and the stop lights seemed to turn green just for us. There was a tangible feeling that our mother was flying high above, looking down at us from the clear blue winter sky. She had become one with everything.

I sat shiva and learned the aleph beis for the first time in order to say kaddish. I started going to shul every morning. Soon someone bought me a pair of tefillin. On Shabbos, I continued to daven at the Carlebach Shul and have Shabbos meals with all the young people I had met at the Sufi Mosque. Eventually, many of us stopped going to the mosque all together, feeling naturally more connected to Judaism. It wasn't long before I decided that I had to go to yeshiva to find out what it was all about. I felt like I was on a mission to help to raise up my mother's soul, to help her to finally let go of her fear and to rectify those things that she was unable to do in this world. Six months after she passed away I was on a plane bound for Israel to find a yeshiva.

Letting Go

After learning in a yeshiva for a few years, I was finally ready to start coping with my mother's death. I yearned to read some of my poetry from back then, especially the epic poem I had written in order to help me to reconnect with my mother. When I asked my father what ever became of all of the writing I had done, he told me that his computer had crashed while I was away in Israel, and that everything I had written at that time was lost. I took the news very harshly and it felt like I had lost my mother all over again, as if a whole part of my life had disappeared. Suddenly, it occurred to me that my old friend Geoff might still have the copy I had lent him way back then. It had been close to two years but I still had his number somewhere. I called him up. He was so happy to hear from me. He couldn't believe that I had been in yeshiva all that time.

Both of our lives were forever changed, all due to that one fateful weekend.

"You'll never guess what I just did," he said. "I just took hand in the Sufi order." He had converted to Islam! Both of our lives were forever changed, all due to that one fateful weekend.

"Do you happen to have that poem I gave you?"

"I'm so sorry," he said. He had been cleaning up his house and had just thrown it out the week before! It was gone forever, and so was my mother. I would only be reunited with them again in the next world. I would have to learn to let go and say goodbye.

John and Rebecca, the woman from the bookstore, came to visit me when I was in yeshiva in Israel. We spoke for hours about my experiences and how happy I was living as an observant Jew. John later told me that I was one of the major inspirations in his decision to convert to Judaism. I held one of the poles at their chuppah. The Sufi bookstore closed down sometime after that year. Today it has been replaced by a pizza parlor.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 21

(21)
ruth housman,
June 16, 2013 6:43 PM

The Search C.P. Snow

I am an avid reader, and just about any book in a bookstore will catch my eye, except for those that are violent. I cannot go to those places in life, and avoid them, whenever possible in fiction. But I remember tiitles, and this one comes to mind. Life is about Search and Find. And sometimes it's even Search and Destroy, as in trying to discover what's at your core, what is the treasure you bear, and how can you express this. It's about yearning, often, so much about spiritual yearning. When I look at the world's deep spiritual underpinnings I find a deep Spring, and it feels like we're all drawing from this same spring. As it is said, a River Runs Through Eden (The Zohar), the mystics book of Splendor. I believe the orchards we all seek, are different and yet, same, as we draw from the same deep Source, that nourishes all this diversity, that, in fact Creates it. I have been looking at the magnificence of flowers lately, so totally perfectly, beautiful, and each one, says something same but different. There is one voice, one Call, and that is, it's all ONE. And I think to truly imbibe this is to enter a vastly different but same universe. Uni Verse. One Verse. And certainly, in following the music, as in following the "lieder" I am pro bono, and Pro Bono, who has a charity called ONE. What's WON is a recognition it's ALL GOD. We're moving in this direction. It's the directive, of this new age. A true and vast opening of consciousness that will marry conscience with consciousness. We are all Braves in this New World, and will work for Peace. It's an inchoate notion but also a Promise. And I dare to believe God does not break such a deep Promise. And so the story will move to Jerusalem.

(20)
dov,
January 23, 2011 8:07 PM

Aish

You are the fire that lightsup my soul
My teacher ,my friend ,my inspiration to write.
Love for the eternity of our Judaism
Dov

(19)
Anonymous,
June 14, 2008 3:04 PM

response to ziggi

ziggi,

in response to ziggi that there are more Jewish options between Islam and Orthodox Judaism, the answer is quite simple. Many people searching for a very deep spiritual tradition often find reform or reconstructionist Judaism watered down. Although they may have incorporated certain aspects of spirituality, they have cut out much of the everyday ritual which in the long run provides the all encompassing framework to live a life that is spiritual in every aspect. In my own search I was destined to become fully committed to a traditional spiritual path--if it had not been Orthodox Judaism, it would have been Islam or becoming a Zen monk or a Hindu hermit. Those religions also have more modern "reform" versions, but those would have never interested me either. Orthodox Judaism does not only offer a place for the "will be" mystics out there, but there are also many different facets and communities suitable for everyone's needs. Although it is not always the easiest path, I believe that there is a place within Orthodox Judaism for everyone that is truly seeking spirituality--even those who are not as extreme as me!

(18)
Ben David,
June 4, 2008 3:04 AM

Beautifull memories

I found this in my mother''s Bible after her death.Do not stand at my grave and weepI am not there, I do not sleep.I am a thousand winds that blow,I am the diamond glints on snow,I am the sun on ripened grain,I am the gentle autumn rain.When you awaken in the morning''s hushI am the swift uplifting rushOf quiet birds in circled flight.I am the soft stars that shine at night.Do not stand at my grave and cry,I am not there, I did not die.

(17)
Avril Meallem,
May 29, 2008 5:51 AM

Poem I wrote at the passing on of my mother in 2007

I or rather my soul wrote this poem as my mother passed on and it always gives me comfort when I read it so I wanted to share it with you. With blessing of love and LightAvril

AN ETERNAL LOVE

A world washed with tears,My world in all its sadness.A mother lost.A friend, teacher never to be replaced.Her soul is now united with its creator.free from suffering and fears.Flying on the wings of HaShem.Do I really want her drawn backinto this illusion of realityjust for my comfort?Tears flow when I feel the love thatmy heart generated as I watched over her.She lay so still, so helpless.Yet our souls touched in a place of such beauty.A place beyond pain and despair.I knew she was not coming back to us.It was only a matter of time.But time stood still .Three weeks blended into eternity .As I stroked her shrunken frameI felt a yearning to surround her with my whole being.To absorb her wisdom that I had never acknowledged.To cherish her life lived only with her family in mind.Mum I hugged you and told you I loved you many timesbut the love I felt in those last days went beyond time and space.Beyond words and mortal expression.It was as if HaShem had poured His Light into both our vessels.and joined our souls with the angels.

(16)
Esther,
May 28, 2008 9:29 PM

I went through the same ordeal..

Wow! I went through the same thing.. i lost my dear mother 3 yrs. ago & was also in denial at first.. it took a year until I really mourned her loss..
Heres my poem that I wrote about her:
Thoughts About my Mother

The Soul wants to cry
Do you know why?
It weeps for its loss
It longs for its love
It cries for its pain
It yearns for the past
For what lasts..
Unconditional love
True depth
Knowing of both souls..

Does She Know.

Does she know that I love her
Does she know how much I miss her
Does she know that I forgive her
Does she know
Does she know
Does she knowâ€¦

Dear Mommy,
Of all the pain that I went through
Nothing can ever match losing you
From all the joy that I experienced
Nothing will ever match having you.
You are the source of my loving nature,
And your loss deems the hollowness Of my sorrow and pain
But your spirit lives onâ€¦
For eternity!

Esther''s Memoirs

Mommy, you were so special,
Mommy, you were so unreal,
What we had was a gift
How we all have to heal!

I remember how you cried when you lit the shabbos candles,
Your whole life & essence was for your children..

How I wish you can hug me
One more time
How I wish I can hear your sweet voice
One more time
How I wish I can gaze into your soft blue eyes
One more time And see your beautiful smile,
And hear your soft laugh
And smell your homemade challah,
Just one more time!!
-------------------------------------
Her tears shed slowly One by one
Her heart is broken in half
It can never be rebuilt
Until she returns
Part of her died
When she died
And the part that''s left Will wait patiently
Until it reunites with her loved one
Crying softly, yet deeply.

It''s just a solace,
Knowing that she''s in a better place.

(15)
Patti Jenkins,
May 27, 2008 7:56 PM

I can relate my mother died in 1997

I had the opportunity to take part in her journey between Life and death. But i was in denial about her condition. she was suffering from Alsheimers And lung cancer this was a kind of competition. My mother prayed that her lung cancer would ultimately take her life and I wanted her to stay with me so I opted for the alsheimers to take her much slowly I prayed maybe there could be a cure! My Mom won she died 6-97 and I found out I was disabled on 7-97 so there I was longing for company I found myself looking for comfort and finding none. Until I found My Jewish soul again ! This would be my salvation and my joy and when the student is ready the teacher appears I was still disabled but the condition did not seem as dire as when I was stagnating in my room! And now I find myself comforting others in the same position. This has been with the help of Aish.com and determination to set Torah first and begin to live my faith for real!

(14)
sharona,
May 27, 2008 5:04 PM

great story

Sometimes we don''t know what we have until we search and discover that what we are seeking is right in our own backyard. Some Jewish indviduals unfortunately have very little knowledge about their heritage, and so when they see something else that looks interesting, they go after it. However, there are some that find their way back to Judaism, baruch Hashem. This is why Jewish education is very important, so they know how rich and beautiful their own heritage is. By the why, the shul I go to in Los Angeles called, The Jewish learning exchange, is also very friendly and has many different Jewish indviduals praying together. Shalom

(13)
ziggi,
May 26, 2008 10:58 PM

interesting account

a lot of people are out there searching for something within religion
i too was interested in religions, however when i went to the hillel in Boston it was the reform movement not the orthodox that pulled me in i went to friday night services with a woman rabbi, the students were from a music academy and the singing was beautiful. the atmosphere of sharing thoughts, the discussion, the singing was what brought me in
later on i found the liberal movement not strong enough on education for children at least not where i live now
however i think there is not only one way , the orthodox way, it is not suitable for everyone and i think we should remain open
it is sad when jews convert to other religions without discovering judism proper.
i know people will disagree but is it all or nothing ? yeshiva or conversion to islam?
i dont think so..

(12)
Goldie Klein,
May 26, 2008 4:14 PM

Your story gave me so much pleasure, such a great feeling of awe at the miraculous way you discovered yiddishkeit. May you continue to go higher and higher in searching the Truth and be zoche to raising a wonderful Torahdike family, with Hashem''s help.

(11)
Anonymous,
May 26, 2008 3:45 PM

Parallel lives

It seems that I, too, can relate in part to what you wrote. I was like Dorothy from the "Wizard of Oz" who looked everywhere for "something" -- only to find it in her backyard. I spend time in New Age Christianity, among other places, trying to find "it." Well, one day, in a chance meeting, my path back to Judaism rose up to meet me. And, I am finally at "home" with my chever. We each have our way of saying so long to our parents. Mine was done as a poem an hour before my Momma died, which I composed at her bedside. I know that it was the only way that G-d had intended for me to do so.I am so happy that you wrote this moving piece and that it continued to support my perspective on the more worldly concept of Teshuvah.B"H to you and your family

(10)
Anonymous,
May 26, 2008 9:24 AM

What the rabbi told me...

In my late adolescence, I became interested in studying other religions other than Judaism. My curiosity troubled me. I went to my Rabbi to ask if what I was doing was bad. He looked at me with his understanding eyes and said:"The best Jews are the ones that return". No judgement or shame.
I have returned and can honestly say that he was correct. I am a happy man,because,of his wisdom and faith led me back. Hashem acts in mysterious ways.

(9)
Marlene,
May 26, 2008 8:37 AM

A very moving story...

You have written a very powerful part of your life....I only pray and hope that my daughter will eventually remember and accept her roots, also, since she is the great-great-great-great- granddaughter of a long line of Rabbis.As you''ve mentioned, sometimes religions cannot be mixed or followed paralleled to each other....it is the way it is!...And I''m sure your Mom is happy,as she is next to G-d, of your return to who you truly are... Hoping this extraordinary joy will happen to me, also, in my lifetime...Shalom and may G-d bless you... always,Marlene

(8)
Anonymous,
May 26, 2008 8:36 AM

positive

What you did took tremendous effort. I am so glad you are enjoying the fruits of that effort. Beautiful writing!

(7)
mina,
May 26, 2008 7:02 AM

an advice

I have enjoyed reading your piece. Your losing part of what you have written must have been a hard thing to compromise with. I advise you to buy a backup to your computer if you hadn''t done that already and to continue writing. At this opportunity I advise to all who read my comment, especially to young people, to keep a diary because most of one''s experiences are forgotten and the past seems so empty when one reflects upon it under these circumstances. Children forget their happy moments with their parents usually and what they did for them so if their adult life does not proceed as they had hoped they look for someone else to blame, of course. They reflect upon their past that now seems blank, with no happy moments with their parents and blame them for the emptiness they feel within. Don''t let this happen to you. Keep a diary that would stir the bottom of your emotional pool, where all the past moments lie undisturbed. And parents should encourage their children to keep diaries, promising never to peep into them. When I found a large pile of letters I have written to my husband on a daily basis, when he was abroad, ten years ago, telling him everything that my our two children and I did that day I realized I have forgotten all of it, although I had a very good memory. Also, reading a diary I have been keeping nine years ago, in which I have documented those experiences that had at that time a tremendous effect on me when they happened, I realized that if not my diary all these wonderful memories would have been lost, together with the knowledge about their effects. It is natural for our minds to file away our memories in order to make room for new ones. But don''t let their script fade and their pages yellow. We live our lives once. Having a diary we could refresh them again and again with their same effects they had on us the first time. Bad memories, however, are best left alone unless they teach us a good lesson. Don''t mess up with them otherwise. You don''t want to experience them all over again. Let those fade.

(6)
raye,
May 26, 2008 3:08 AM

Lucky you!

Not all young people come back to the Fold. Even those who were knowledgeable in Yiddishkeit sometimes find it easier to wear other hats,especially if they are financially feasible.

Greetings, and well done!
I''m 81 now, really beat up, I guess. I left home at 12 years, and have spent the rest of my life in a search of one kind or another. I feel a close connection with your very well told narrative. I did a lot of freight train riding, and I was as careful as I could be, but in all that time I became aware of, and appreciative of, the fact that we are necessarily alone. It''s in these moments of self awareness I concluded we have only two choices of world/existence views. We are either a "stick" waiting to dry, or we have a spirit. If your view is that we are a "stick" - have fun while it lasts. If you conclude we have a spirit, then the "fun" (mental, at least) begins.
I had only completed the 5th grade, but at the age of 27 (and married) I talked an admittance counselor into admitting me to UCLA, with a science major. The thing that hit me like a bolt of lighting was the periodic table! You look at that thing and consider the implications of it, and ... wow, all of our physical universe is made essentially of three things! I can''t accept that what obviously is true. It is just not possible. I have to accept, on physical evidence, we are much more than a stick. That being so, then it''s a question of what or whose scenario is acceptable, Jewish, Muslim, or Christian (mainly).
I continue the journey.
Happy journey to all!

(3)
Caryn Tanis Boren,
May 25, 2008 7:36 AM

Beautiful.

I had a similar experience and, following my mother''s death, discovered that attending my conservative synagogue each Shabbot and reciting prayers completes me. I certainly can relate to your story. Now my son, age 17, tells me he doesn''t feel Jewish and doesn''t wish to attend services with me on Saturdays as he "doesn''t believe in organized religion." I view this in the same prospective as when he grew his hair and wore it in an Afro-style. It''s a faze and sooner or later you come back to your roots.

(2)
Marlene Bergman,
May 25, 2008 7:25 AM

May G-d bless you, from one poet to another.

In my search for more of G-d, I too found/find comfort by writing poetry. I have a web site filled with it. Someone has said that we all have a G-d shaped vacuum in our lives that ONLY G-d can fill. I enjoyed your article.

(1)
Ruth Housman,
May 25, 2008 6:31 AM

what is SUF(F)I ..CIENT

Hi, thank you for this most beautiful story that is in itself, part of the weave you speak about early on in the piece, as a very SUFI belief about our lives. It doesn''t really matter how you "arrive", the journey is often so very poignant and beautiful when we examine the "threads" and surely in this, your most lovely piece, there is such love.

There is a movie called Mystic Pizza, so perhaps, your stumbling into the welcoming arms of the Sufis and later the most generous rabbi, was all a piece of the mystic magic that surrounds this beautiful story.

This year during Chanukah I will be on a wilderness survival trip, and it will be very difficult to properly celebrate the holiday. I certainty won't be able to bring along a Menorah.

So if I am going to celebrate only one day of Chanukah, which is the most significant?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

If a person can only celebrate one day of Chanukah, he should celebrate the first day.

This is similar to a case where a person is in prison, and the authorities agree to permit him to go to synagogue one day. The law is that he should go at the first opportunity, and not wait for a more important day like the High Holidays.

The reason is because one should not allow the opportunity of a mitzvah to pass. Moreover, it is quite conceivable that circumstances will later change and allow for additional observance. Therefore, we do not let the first chance pass. (Sources: Code of Jewish Law OC 90, Mishnah Berurah 28.)

As an important aside, Chanukah candles must be lit in (or at the entrance to) a home rather than out of doors. Thus, you should not light in actual "wilderness," but only after you've pitched your tent for the night.

There may be another reason why the first night is the one to focus on. Chanukah is celebrated for eight days to commemorate the one-day supply of oil that miraculously burned for eight days. But if you think about it, since there was enough oil to burn naturally for one night, nothing miraculous happened on that first night! So why shouldn't Chanukah be just seven days?!

There are many wonderful answers given to this question, highlighting the special aspect of the first day. Here are a few:

1) True, the miracle of the oil did not begin until the second day, and lasted for only seven days. But the Sages designated the first day of Chanukah in commemoration of the miraculous military victory.

2) Having returned to the Temple and found it in shambles, the Jews had no logical reason to think they would find any pure oil. The fact that the Maccabees didn't give up hope, and then actually found any pure oil at all, is in itself a miracle.

3) The Sages chose Chanukah, a festival that revolves around oil's ability to burn, as the time to teach the fundamental truth that even so-called "natural" events take place only because God wants them to.

The Talmudic Sage Rabbi Chanina Ben Dosa expressed this truth in explaining a miracle that occurred in his own home. Once, his daughter realized that she had lit the Shabbos candles with vinegar instead of oil. Rabbi Chanina calmed her, saying, "Why are you concerned! The One Who commanded oil to burn, can also command vinegar to burn!" The Talmud goes on to say that those Shabbos lights burned bright for many hours (Taanit 25a).

To drive this truth home, the Sages decreed that Chanukah be observed for eight days: The last seven to commemorate the miracle of the Menorah, and the first to remind us that even the “normal” burning of oil is only in obedience to God's wish.

In closing, I'm not sure what's stopping you from celebrating more than one day? At a minimum, you can light one candle sometime during the evening, and that fulfills the mitzvah of Chanukah - no “official Menorah” necessary. With so much joy to be had, why limit yourself to one night only?!

In 165 BCE, the Maccabees defeated the Greek army and rededicated the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Finding only one jar of pure oil, they lit the Menorah, which miraculously burned for eight days. Also on this day -- 1,100 years earlier -- Moses and the Jewish people completed construction of the Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary that accompanied them during 40 years of wandering in the desert. The Tabernacle was not dedicated, however, for another three months; tradition says that the day of Kislev 25 was then "compensated" centuries later -- when the miracle of Chanukah occurred and the Temple was rededicated. Today, Jews around the world light a Chanukah menorah, to commemorate the miracle of the oil, and its message that continues to illuminate our lives today.

A person who utilizes suffering to arouse himself in spiritual matters will find consolation. He will recognize that even though the suffering was difficult for him, it nevertheless helped him for eternity.

When you see yourself growing spiritually through your suffering, you will even be able to feel joy because of that suffering.

They established these eight days of Chanukah to give thanks and praise to Your great Name(Siddur).

Jewish history is replete with miracles that transcend the miracle of the Menorah. Why is the latter so prominently celebrated while the others are relegated to relative obscurity?

Perhaps the reason is that most other miracles were Divinely initiated; i.e. God intervened to suspend the laws of nature in order to save His people from calamity.

The miracle of the Menorah was something different. Having defeated the Seleucid Greek invaders, the triumphant Jews entered the Sanctuary. There they found that they could light the Menorah for only one day, due to a lack of undefiled oil. Further, they had no chance of replenishing the supply for eight days. They did light the Menorah anyway, reasoning that it was best to do what was within their ability to do and to postpone worrying about the next day until such worry was appropriate. This decision elicited a Divine response and the Menorah stayed lit for that day and for seven more.

This miracle was thus initiated by the Jews themselves, and the incident was set down as a teaching for all future generations: concentrate your efforts on what you can do, and do it! Leave the rest to God.

While even our best and most sincere efforts do not necessarily bring about miracles, the teaching is nevertheless valid. Even the likelihood of failure in the future should not discourage us from any constructive action that we can take now.

Today I shall...

focus my attention on what it is that I can do now, and do it to the best of my ability.

With stories and insights,
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